


dynamic

by nepentheosileus



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS
Genre: Dating, Drabbles, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Headcanon, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Word Prompts, Post-Episode: 34
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 18:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14721779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nepentheosileus/pseuds/nepentheosileus
Summary: Dating has its ups and downs -- but then again, so do they.[Small speculation drabbles based off of one word prompts.]





	dynamic

**Author's Note:**

> Writer's Block is a bitch so here I am trying to dig my way out of it with Blueghost :')

  _family_

 

“Here,” says Spectre, and his hand is warm as it guides her own to rest over the center of the tree stump. His breath tumbles from his lips in a trembling exhale, washes over her cheek and she breathes it in, tastes his nervousness on her tongue, feels it in her lungs.

 

“It's okay,” she tells him.

 

Spectre glances at her briefly, but right now his attention is only for his tree and the way their conjoined hands rest on its wound. Aoi wonders how fast his heart is beating, if it's racing.

 

Then he says, “Mother,” and his voice cracks pitifully and she's lacing her fingers through his before she can even think about it. Spectre sighs a deep, tired sigh of relief and squeezes her palm.

 

“Mother,” he tries again. “I have a lot to tell you about.”

 

* * *

 

 

_cheat_

 

Aoi sighs. “Will you ever learn to stop cheating?”

 

Their cards are strewn across the table and floor, messy. They're cuddled together on the couch, messier. She can't really bring herself to feel disappointment at the discontinuation of their duel, but if it had gone on she's sure she would've won.

 

He must know this too because he's chuckling and pulling her closer, kissing her temple as he says, “Not a chance.”

 

It was hardly fair, but she allows him to distract her once more.

  ~~~~

* * *

 

 

_cute_

 

The first time he blushes in front of her she feels like her heart might stop beating at any given moment. It's sudden and catches her by surprise, and her first thought is _how cute._

 

And it's weird, because this is Spectre. Spectre isn't supposed to be cute.

 

But suddenly he is, and she finds herself blushing right back.

 

* * *

 

 

_music_

 

His fingers are nimble, and she thinks he could play the piano.

 

 

They're gentle as they brush her bangs back from her face. Beautiful as they clip away at the weeds in his garden. Agile as they explore her body, fingertips dancing over skin rather than blatantly touching.

 

They're thin and long and pale and she loves to watch them, thinks she'd like to watch them do most anything because they're fascinating, but she never tells him this.

 

“Have you ever thought about playing an instrument?” she asks him, subtle, and swallows down her embarrassment when he raises an eyebrow at her knowingly.

 

* * *

 

 

_money_

 

Going on dates has become more like a competition to see who can pay for everything first. Aoi will rush for her credit card while he reaches hurriedly for the surplus of cash he has stored in his wallet, and when he glowers at her for beating him she sneers right back.

 

“Save it,” she’ll tell him as she hands her card over. “There's no need to waste Revolver’s money on me.”

 

Sometimes he’ll make a point of buying her something extra, then, as if there's a point to prove.

 

He likes to spoil her, but that's just fine -- she likes to spoil him too.

 

* * *

 

 

_scars_

 

She catches him by the wrist one day and feels the lines beneath her fingers; traces them almost unconsciously, returns the determined stare he gives her.

 

“You're an idiot,” she says after a while, but presses her lips to his scars anyways.

 

* * *

 

 

_sand_

 

“Does it really matter what kind of sand you use?”

 

Spectre whips around so fast she wonders if he's pulled something. “It isn't sand,” he says slowly, “it’s soil.”

 

Aoi rolls her eyes. “Fine. Does it matter what kind of soil you use?”

 

“Yes. It does matter.” He sniffs as though offended. “Only the best for _my_ plants.”

 

They don't leave the store for another forty five minutes, and Aoi makes sure to call it sand at least six more times.

 

* * *

 

_window_

 

They say that the eyes are a window to a person’s soul, that when you look into someone’s eyes you can tell everything about them from their deepest interests to their darkest fears.

 

Aoi thinks that it makes no sense, because when she looks into Spectre’s eyes all she sees is her own reflection.

 

* * *

 

_cooking_

 

She cooks for him once upon his request. It’s burnt and discoloured and she questions its edibility, but he eats it without complaint.

 

“That can't be good,” she tells him, eyeing the dark mush as it disappears into his mouth.

 

A smile, then, and Aoi feels her chest warming as he says, “It really isn't that bad,” despite the very obvious smell that’s clinging to the air.

 

She doesn't believe him, but he promises to cook for her too one day, and she lets it go.

 

* * *

 

 

_dress_

 

“Don't tempt me,” Spectre warns her without looking up from his book, as if he knows what she's wearing without actually having to see it.

 

Aoi huffs. “You didn't even look.”

 

“I don't have to.” He turns the page idly. “I already know it's going to look fine.”

 

“Don't use compliments as an excuse.”

 

“Do you want to get the dress dirty before you can actually use it for its correct purpose? Because that's what you're asking for.”

 

She wrinkles her nose but steps closer nonetheless. The languid sway of her hips as she moves in isn't something he can see, but the strict positioning of his shoulders and the way his eyes have stopped moving along the page tells her that he can sense it.

 

“Are you really so obscene,” she asks, “that you would jump someone in her cocktail dress?”

 

A hum as he looks up. “Only if it's you.”

 

(Time passes and when Aoi arrives late to the dinner party that night her brother gives her swollen lips a look of unmasked annoyance.)

 

* * *

 

 

_school_

 

Walking home after a long day of classes is usually bothersome, but he meets her at the gates and takes her hand and smiles at her, and if her heartbeat picks up a bit she doesn't mention it.

 

“Did you have a good day?” He asks her.

 

She contemplates responding that _yes, she is now,_ but instead she squeezes his hand in hers, saying, “I did.”

 

He waits for her every day afterwards, and the walk home becomes infinitely more enjoyable.

 

* * *

 

_dance_

 

They catch Ryoken teaching Yusaku how to dance one day. There's a lot of slipping and falling and in turn there’s also a lot of catching, but Spectre doesn't seem to get it.

 

“Of course,” he scoffs, “I should have known you couldn't do even this much, Fujiki.”

 

Before Yusaku can defend himself Aoi has taken Spectre by the hand and lead him back to his room. He’s pouty, like he'd been looking forward to the fight, but she distracts him easily enough.

 

“Dance with me,” she tells him, guiding one of his hands to her hips.

 

It takes her falling twice before he understands.

 

* * *

 

 

_pages_

 

“Why do you think Blue Angel continued to cry?” She asks him one day, and his hand freezes mid page turn.

 

“I…” Clearing his throat, he sets the book down on his lap and contemplates his answer. It's almost fascinating to watch him think, his expression flickering ever so slightly between different emotions, remnants of thoughts left unsaid.

 

Eventually he says, “There are many interpretations,” and she shakes her head and tells him, “I want to hear yours.”

 

She knows it's a personal question, that upon hearing his answer she may come to understand more about him than what he is comfortable with; wonders if she's stepped over a line when he can't bring himself to look her in the eyes.

 

“I think,” he begins, worrying his bottom lips between his teeth. She gives him time, waits patiently -- always patiently -- and then finally: “I think Blue Angel was saddened that she could not save the monsters like she herself was saved.”

 

Aoi says nothing in return, simply listens on as he picks the book back up and continues to read as though never interrupted. If she listens closely she can hear his voice waver every few lines.

 

 

 


End file.
